


Shiny and New

by red_crate



Series: Harringrove Pornathon 2019 [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Dubious Consent, Fight Sex, Hate Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rutting, Slurs, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: It’s a flashback to that night in Byers’s house—bloody mouth and sharp knuckles. This time, Steve is on top. He’s got Billy flat on his back, struggling.That’s when he feels it.





	Shiny and New

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this today for the Harringrove Pornathon. It was supposed to be actual sex with a lot less angst/hatred. But, well, this happened instead. I hope you enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> Note at the end explaining the dubious consent.

 

“What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” Billy still has the balls to taunt Steve, even when he’s pinned against the wall. “Do you need to call your middle school dweebs to come back you up?”

 

Steve pushes into the hold he has on Billy, pissed and fucking fed up with Billy’s attitude. The way he practically follows Steve around school, two steps behind, hissing in his ear with poisonous words. This time Billy had been talking shit about Nancy, talking about how Steve must not have been able to give her the dicking she _really_ needed. How maybe Billy should step in and show her what a _real man_ could provide.

 

He doesn’t even remember how they got in the locker room. How they ended up alone is even more of a mystery, but Steve will take it for now. He doesn’t like fighting, but he remembers how good it felt to snap his fist into Billy’s hateful mouth.

 

He says, “Maybe I should call your sister.”

 

There’s a brief look of genuine fear that Steve doesn’t quite understand even knowing Max had taken his baseball bat just inches away from Billy’s junk. The flash of fear is quickly replaced though. Billy’s hands come up to grip Steve’s polo, eyes hot and harsh.

 

“She’s not my sister,” Billy corrects as he shoves his body into Steve’s. He barrels forward and knocks Steve backwards. The only thing that keeps Steve on his feet are the two hands twisted in Steve’s shirt. “You wanna go?” Billy shouts, a hysterical laugh trailing the words. It bounces against the tiled walls.

 

Turning so he can use Billy’s momentum against him, Steve growls out, “What is your _problem_!” He grabs Billy’s wrists and gets his ankle behind one of Billy’s.

 

They trip onto the floor between a row of lockers and the bench bolted to the ground. Breath rushes out of Billy’s mouth when Steve falls on top of him.

 

“Fuck,” Billy chokes, eyes squeezed tight for a moment. There’s blood on his teeth when he speaks. “Fuck _you_.” He spits up at Steve, hands shoving at Steve’s face.

 

He has to struggle to stay on top. Legs pinning Billy’s hips down, Steve’s back and hips rolling with the movement of the boy beneath him so he can’t be dislodged. He dodges the badly angled punch, manages to catch that hand in his grip and push. He gets Billy’s other hand, pulls that up too until Billy is stretched and pinned beneath him.

 

It’s a flashback to that night in Byers’s house—bloody mouth and sharp knuckles. This time, Steve is on top. He’s got Billy flat on his back, struggling.

 

That’s when he feels it.

 

Billy thrashes, tugs his arms down in an attempt to free himself, but Steve’s stronger than he looks. His fingers tighten reflexively around Billy’s wrists and keep him in place.

 

“Is that it?” Steve’s words come out before he’s even fully processed the hard length pressed along the inside of his thigh. He looks down between them even though he can’t _see_ it with the way he’s sitting on top of Billy.

 

For his part, Billy has the gall to look confused. “What?” He grits the word out then tries to roll his body and knock Steve off.

 

But Steve sees the way Billy swallows hard, muscles shuddering when Steve doesn’t relent. He squeezes his legs. The motion brings Billy’s hard-on closer, rubs it against the inseam of Steve’s jeans.

 

Steve pushes up, pushes his weight into the hold he has on Billy’s wrists.

 

“Get off me, fag!” Billy shouts, struggling like a fish out of water.

 

Steve knows then, clear as day. He can see it in every line of Billy’s body. He can hear it in every word the other boy has hurled at him over the past year. And Steve feels the rush to his head—knowing Billy’s deep, dark secret.

 

“Scared, Billy?” Steve asks. His voice is even, though he’s just a little breathless. “Is it _hard_ for you?”

 

Steve likes being mean sometimes, especially when he thinks the person deserves it. He’s good at it—learned it from his parents and his friends. He ignores the small voice in the back of his head telling him he’s a hypocrite. Drowns it out with his own words.

 

He settles more firmly over Billy, rocks down just enough to see Billy flinch. Steve asks, “Is that a lighter in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” He laughs, mirthlessly.

 

“Get _off_!” Billy sounds a little panicked. He kicks his head up like he’s aiming to butt Steve off him, knock him out and run away.

 

With more finesse than he knew he was capable of, Steve gets Billy’s wrists locked in one of his fists. With his free hand, Steve grips the front of Billy’s neck and forces him back down. “Admit it!” He demands, fingers pressing in enough that Billy’s flushed face gets redder.

 

Billy sputters, tears at the corner of his eyes. “Stop.”

 

Steve should. He should roll off Billy and take the win. But he’s locked in now, can’t seem to stop himself from leaning until his mouth is against Billy’s ear. “Why? Looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”

 

The thing is, Billy isn’t the only one here who’s hard now. His own cock is trapped in his too-tight jeans. He rocks his hips again. Their chests are pressed together, all the way down to where Steve’s thighs are split over Billy’s hips.

 

Billy stops struggling. He stops moving, and he seems to stop breathing when Steve runs his nose softly against the shell of his ear.

 

Things are starting to cross a line Steve never thought he’d cross. Not again, and not with someone like Billy Hargrove. He loosens his fingers on Billy’s wrists just enough to test Billy, see if he’s going to pull away and shove Steve off for good. Cold fear crowds along Steve’s senses at the knowledge that they’re _alone_ with no witnesses if Billy does get the upper hand on him again.

 

“Fuck you,” Billy’s voice breaks, sound quiet. He turns his face away from Steve. His nose flares as he sucks in a deep breath. “You’re a faggot.”

 

Steve scoffs. His heart is racing. The word turns his stomach, but it doesn’t really _hurt_. He knows if he’s got anything to hide, then Billy’s just as guilty. There’s enough fear and uncertainty in those blue eyes to confirm it.

 

“I think you’re just scared of the truth,” Steve continues. He releases Billy’s neck and reaches down between the two of them until he can cup the skin warm denim trapping Billy’s hard cock. He brushes his thumb over the head slowly. “It’s okay, baby,” he sneers, tightening his grip on Billy’s cock.

 

Billy screws up his face and grits his teeth, pink tinged saliva coating his bottom lip. He doesn’t say anything, still not struggling.

 

Steve blinks, freezing as he really looks at Billy. Cold washes through him, recoiling from the grip he had on Billy’s hard-on. He lets go of Billy’s wrists and holds himself up with his palms pressed to the dirty floor by Billy’s shoulders.

 

He should get up, run away, and pretend he didn’t just nearly do something truly fucked up. He feels kind of sick with himself as he sucks in air.

 

Billy turns back, looking at him warily where Steve is perched on top of him. His curls are matted with the sweat along his hairline. They hold eye contact for two, three, five seconds.

 

Billy grabs him by the back of the head and yanks him down so their mouths crash together. The sharp click of teeth hitting jars Steve. He gasps and swallows the sad, desperate noise Billy makes. It’s not a kiss. It’s a new attack—one whose intended target is unidentifiable.

 

“Shut up,” Billy says between them. His fingers are tight, twisted up in the hair along Steve’s neck. “Shut _up_.”

 

Steve isn’t saying anything.

 

The copper taste of blood blooms in Steve’s mouth when Billy’s cut and swollen tongue pushes inside. He soothes it best he can with soft, undulating pressure as he tries to calm Billy’s frantic energy. None of this makes sense, even though it all makes perfect sense.

 

Steve’s flagging hard-on finds new life, stiffens back up as Billy pushes his hips up to chase the pressure. When Billy moans again, Steve rocks down in an attempt to find rhythm.

 

He kisses along Billy’s stubbled jaw. His skin feels like it’s on fire, arousal hot along his nerves where he’d been chilled barely two minutes ago. The upheaval is enough to leave Steve breathless, but Billy is squirming beneath him—his small little encouraging noises as they rock together—make it hard to breathe.

 

He asks, “You never did this?” Again, his mouth is running on its own accord, getting him in trouble when Billy stills beneath him for a second.

 

His eyes are shut, head tipped back. That red mouth is parted in pleasure even if the edges are tense. He’s unfairly attractive. Billy’s nods once before rolling his head to the side and clenching his jaw shut.

 

Steve watches Billy open his eyes, glare up at him with an almost palpable anger as he grits out, “What? You do this often?” Its offended and exasperated.

 

He leans down and presses his forehead against Billy’s. His grin is sharp, hand sneaking back down to grind his palm against him. “What if I do?”

 

He can feel the way Billy’s cock twitches, wonders if precome blurted out of his slit. Steve takes special pleasure in wondering if Billy is going to fantasize about this later. He wonders if Billy thought about something like this before now—thinks Billy must have. Maybe he fantasizes about _Steve_. For all the rumored sexual prowess Billy has with the girls, Steve realizes that isn’t the whole story. Not when everything about Billy is a contradiction.

 

The thought lights Steve up. He kisses Billy again, swallows up whatever bitchy reply he might have had. Instead, Billy goes quiet in the kiss. He doesn’t fight Steve for direction and moves the way Steve leads.

 

It’s too much to have all of that under his sway, Billy’s fingers tucked under the hem of Steve’s polo—other hand soft now in the thicket of Steve’s hair. It’s too much input and information.

 

He shoots off, the front of his boxers hot and wet with come as he shudders through orgasm. Steve groans, doing his best to keep rubbing Billy as his own pleasure pours out.

 

“Fuck, fuck.” The words punch out of Billy. His face tenses up and he arches his back as he follows Steve over that cliff.

 

Steve rears back, sitting up fully, so he can watch Billy come. He smoothes Billy’s hair back and absently drags his fingers down the side of his face, taking advantage of the opportunity. His thumb dips inside Billy’s mouth and pushes on his tongue.

 

“Don’t forget,” Steve reminds him breathlessly, “I know.” He slips his thumb back out before swinging his leg over and standing up.

 

He grimaces, tugging at the front of his jeans. At least he’s got a change in his car. English class can wait.

 

When he looks down, Billy is spread out, one knee bent and arms slung to the sides like a crucifixion. His eyes are shut.

 

Steve watches him longer than he should, resolve wavering when he sees the resignation writ in Billy’s features.

 

He leaves him there.

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent in the form of Steve groping Billy without explicit permission. It does become more evenly desired, but the whole exchange is a bit fraught. 
> 
>  
> 
> Title from “Like A Virgin” by Madonna. 
> 
> I’m the-redcrate on tumblr.


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